Yes, I Do Read online

  In New York, he met with several top designers of men’s clothing and settled on a fragrance that would carry McCall’s name and logo. “I’d like to name it Deanna,” he told the perfumer, knowing that could cause problems. Maybe next time. Ordinarily, he left decisions like that to his department heads after consulting with him. But he didn’t like some of the menswear in his store, and he meant to change it.

  “I like the single color for men,” he told one designer. “For example, gray suit, shirt and a tie in a different shade of gray.” Satisfied that, in his region, he could lead a trend in single color and that he’d be able to offer a top quality perfume, he headed back to Woodmore.

  “That perfume idea is wonderful,” his grandfather told him. “I don’t know why we didn’t think of it before. I’m proud of you, son.”

  At home that night, he ate the dinner that his housekeeper prepared, read The Woodmore Times and watched the political pundits on MSNBC TV. He got up from the television to get a bottle of beer and stopped. His gaze took in the fruits of his labors, elegant surroundings, every perfect thing.

  “And it’s so damned quiet here,” he said aloud. “Not a single sound unless I make it, turn on the TV or radio or drop something. What the hell kind of life is this? Priceless Persian carpets, cathedral ceilings, the finest furniture and accessories do not a happy home make.” He leaned against the dining room table, reached for the telephone and replaced it in its cradle. He knew plenty of women, but he couldn’t call one of them without mortgaging his freedom. He blew out a long breath. Not one of them had ever had a paying job, nor did they volunteer at anything supportive of human life and well-being. The problem right then was that he couldn’t call Deanna. He had to know why she behaved toward him as she did.

  Maybe the problem was that his ego had taken a punch, but he could handle it. With a shrug, he put on a CD of Alexander Borodin’s Polovtzian Dances, leaned back in his favorite chair with his eyes closed and let stress melt away from him. She would do that for him, too. He knew it in his gut. He’d never been wrong about his reaction to women, and he was going for it.

  Two weeks later, Deanna stepped out of New Orleans’ Louis Armstrong International Airport and into the steamiest air she had ever tried to breathe. Nothing and no one had prepared her for the blast of damp, torrid weather. She dropped her carry-on, pulled off her linen jacket and signaled for a taxi.

  “That taxi gon’ cost you an arm and a leg, lady,” a man said. “You better wait for the shuttle. It’ll take you right straight to the hotel, and it won’t cost half as much.”

  “Thanks,” she said, “but I want to get out of this heat and into something that’s air-conditioned.”

  The man beckoned for a cab. “Don’t pay him a penny more than thirty bucks.”

  “Hilton River Walk Hotel,” she told the driver, “and please turn up the cool air.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I sure will, but you might as well get used to the heat. Heat’s good. All you gotta do is move slow and take ya time.”

  After the pleasant, twenty-minute ride, she stepped out of the taxi and, while following the porter to the registration desk, she nearly stumbled. Justin McCall walked toward her, beaming, with his charismatic smile illuminating his face. But almost as soon as the smile began, he erased it, deliberately, too, she thought. But he had communicated to her his pleasure at seeing her, and he couldn’t take it back. He nodded a greeting, walked on past her, and although she knew she deserved it, it troubled her nonetheless. She presumed that, like her, he would be attending the convention of home furnishings designers.

  She checked into her room and looked out of her window to see what kind of view she had. The Mississippi River stretched out in front of her, and the first paddle wheel boat she’d ever seen greeted the hotel with a blast of its horn. She hung up her clothes, pressed the linen jacket, took a shower and crawled into bed, exhausted from the long flight.

  At about three o’clock, she dressed and went down to one of the restaurants in search of food. To her chagrin, Justin was one of only two people there. She pretended not to see him, and not because she wouldn’t like his company, but because she did not want to appear to invite his attention. However, she was repaid for her pretense by nearly missing the chair on which she attempted to sit. She couldn’t help glancing toward Justin to see if he had witnessed her embarrassment. He had, and he showed his delight in a wide and wicked grin.

  She would have loved to throttle him. Mildly irritated, she focused on the copy of The Times-Picayune that she'd brought with her. She hated eating alone in restaurants unless she had something to read while waiting to be served. However, she needn’t have concerned herself about that. A glimpse of his beige-colored trousers beside the table at which she sat alerted her to his presence.

  “Hello, Ms. Lawford. Do you mind if I join you?”

  If she said yes, would he return to his own table? She doubted it, and thought it best not to test him. Besides, she would appear foolish even to herself. “Please have a seat,” she said, deciding not to tell him she didn’t mind, although she didn’t. “It surprised me to see you when I arrived.”

  “I imagine so. I don’t ordinarily attend these conventions, but in this economic climate, things are changing, and if I want to know precisely what’s going on, I have to go to the source. Since I assume you operate on the same principle, I certainly am not surprised to see you here.” He sipped the coffee that he brought from his table. “I hope you had a comfortable flight.”

  “I did. It was a six-thirty flight, so you may imagine that I slept for most of it.” She did not want to sit there trying to eat while making small talk. Besides, when he looked at her in that way of his, she didn’t know whether to shrivel or bloom. Either he was hell-bent on reminding her every minute of her femininity, or she was in danger of allowing his masculine aura—powerful that it was—to stupefy her.

  “It’s rather late for lunch,” she said, ill at ease because of the awkward silence.

  He leaned back, ignored her comment and cut to the chase. “I’m having a difficult time digesting your curt reply to my telling you I’d like to see you again.” She couldn’t hold back a gasp, and he held up his hand to ward off her reaction. “Hear me out. You’d said you were “miss,” so I had assumed that you were not currently married. You knew from the start that I was interested in you, so you couldn’t have been caught off guard. You had a right to say no, but my behavior required you to be at least gracious, and you were not. I’d like to know why.”

  After forcing herself to look into his riveting gaze, she tried to smile to lighten the mood. She knew she’d failed at that when he began opening and closing his right fist in a show of impatience. “I don’t want a relationship.”

  But he wouldn’t let her off with that. “Relationship? I had dinner in mind or something like that, so that we could talk and I could get to know you. Look, Deanna… Do you mind if I call you Deanna? My name is Justin.” A half smile played around his lips.

  “I don’t mind at all.” What she did mind was the way he seemed to pull her into his orbit.

  “Look. I’m straight with women. In fact, I’m straight with people. I don’t play games with women. I want to get to know you because you interest me. You still haven’t told me why you rejected me as if you thought I was a player.”

  “A what? What’s a player?”

  An expression of disbelief settled on his face. “It’s a man who exploits women.”

  She felt her eyes widen. “How could I think that about you? I wouldn’t know a player if I saw one.”

  “But you’d know it soon enough if you gave him an opportunity. Are you familiar with New Orleans?” Here it comes, she thought when she shook her head.

  She told the truth because he could easily tell if she lied. “This is my first trip here.”

  “Want a personal tour with me?”

  She stalled for time, though she knew that seeing New Orleans with Justin McCall would be
a delightful experience. “So, you’ve been here before.”

  “You bet. I love jazz, and this is the jazz capital of the world. Are you going to answer my question? I’ll be glad to give you a bio and some references if they’ll help you change your mind.”

  She imagined that her eyes sparkled at the thought of visiting the jazz clubs and sampling New Orleans’ famous food with Justin. But the opportunity to needle him gave her nearly as much pleasure. “Oh, I’d love to see your bio. I’ll bet it’s fascinating. And don’t give me your daddy for a reference. I want a recommendation from at least three of your lady friends.” When he gaped, seemingly speechless, laughter poured out of her.

  “I don’t play games, either,” she said, “though I’m not above getting a laugh at another’s expense and pulling a few pranks.”

  “So I see. By the way, my granddad raised me. He’s the one you’d get a reference from.”

  It didn’t escape her that he wasn’t forthcoming about why his father didn’t raise him. Well, her closet wasn’t broom clean either. “You’re a gracious man, Justin,” she said, deciding to be serious. “However, although I’m not married, I do have a good reason to avoid a relationship with you.” He sat forward, and she could almost see his antenna alert itself. “I’m head interior decorator for Burton’s Department Store, your chief competition, and I do not want to clutter my life with problems.”

  “What? He set the coffee cup down with such force that she thought he’d broken it. “But I asked you if you were an interior decorator, and you obviously didn’t tell me the truth.”

  “Wait a minute. I did not answer your question directly. I evaded it and got you off that subject by answering that the candles were for my bedroom. Remember?”

  He nodded as he seemed to recall the conversation. “The more we talk, the more intriguing you are.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

  Let him think he had to persuade her. She wanted to have dinner with him, if only to know what it would be like to have a date like Justin McCall. She wasn’t using good judgment, but she’d worry about that another day.

  She looked down at the long and tapered brown fingers that held her hand, and managed not to suck in her breath. “What time would you like us to meet?”

  He stroked the back of her hand with his index finger, and a grin altered the contours of his face. “How about five-thirty? The earlier we meet, the longer we can make the evening. In about an hour we can see the river and the Arts District. Too bad that on this short visit we can’t go down to the levee and see how it’s shored up against flooding. Ever since I read Mark Twain’s stories as a child, the Mississippi has fascinated me.”

  And the more he talked, the more he fascinated her. She’d begun to suspect that they had many common interests, beginning with jazz and the culture that nurtured slavery. “All right. I’ll meet you in the reception hall at five-thirty, and I will not be fashionably late.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate promptness.”

  “I’d better get back to my room, Justin. I brought along some work.”

  He stood. “So did I. Have a productive hour or so. I’ll be waiting for you down here at five-thirty.”

  Was she going to be sorry? She had a feeling that this was the beginning of something important. A man with Justin McCall’s background and self-assurance did not stop until he reached his goal. She signed her check and went back to her room. What would her boss say to her having a close friendship with the man for whom he reserved his most vitriolic attacks? She was not going to worry about it. She didn’t have any trade secrets to give away, she was grown and she didn’t have to ask anybody who she could date.

  “I hope I’m not walking into a hornet’s nest,” she said as she sat down to her laptop computer and began drawing sketches for a contemporary-style living room in a rustic mountain cabin. Whoever heard of such a thing?

  Justin decided that on a sizzling afternoon, the best place to pick up trade hints and tips would be around the swimming pool, so he changed into swim briefs, put on the terry cloth bathrobe he found in his closet and went to the pool.

  “White is it for this winter,” a self-assured blonde told her companion. “But some people will resist, so I’m protecting my behind with cocoa, which goes well with white.”

  He moved away. Women in Woodmore would have his head if he offered them a choice of only two colors, especially tan and white, no matter the season. In any case, he liked to see women in warm colors. After joining two men who seemed interested only in the attributes of females decked out in bikinis, he swam two laps, went back to his room and stretched out on the bed.

  He had decided that if Deanna dusted him off again, he’d leave her alone. To his amazement, she displayed genuine humor and the warmth that he had sensed in her. He wasn’t going to allow himself to expect anything from her other than a pleasant evening. But he wished he’d stop looking forward to the evening with such impatience. He was a cautious man, wasn’t he? Oh, what the heck!! He got up, showered and looked around for something appropriate to wear.

  He wanted to give her some flowers, but how could he when he was meeting her in the lobby? When he realized that the florist hadn’t closed, he bought half a dozen American Beauty roses and handed them to her when she arrived.

  “I would have preferred to give them to you at your door.”

  “They are beautiful, and I love flowers. Will you wait a minute while I take these to my room?”

  “Of course.” She’d done precisely what he’d hoped she would do.

  “I’ve made reservations at Nola, one of Emeril Lagasse’s restaurants. I like the food as well as the ambience, and I hope you will, too.”

  “I’m sure I will. Thank you for choosing it. He’s a wonderful chef.”

  They walked outside and a doorman signaled for a taxi. They arrived at the big row house that had once housed a wealthy family. The neighborhood had an air of elegance. A climb up a high flight of stairs brought them to their table in a beautiful room where crystal chandeliers provided the light and the table setting might have been in a well-appointed private home.

  “Justin, this is beautiful, and cozy, too. Thank you for bringing me here.”

  “My pleasure.” What a melodious voice he had!

  “Do you sing, Justin?”

  “Actually, I don’t, except around the house sometimes, entertaining myself.”

  “But you can sing if you want to. Right?”

  “Yeah. Why are you so sure of it?”

  “Your speaking voice suggests it.”

  “Which means you sing. Am I right?”

  He held her chair while she sat down. “I’ve sung in choirs most of my life. I’m not doing it now, because I don’t go to church. I got into the habit of sleeping late on Sunday mornings, but guilt and I don’t live well together.”

  “Same here, and my granddad rebukes me for that every Sunday that he can reach me. What would you like to drink?”

  “I prefer white wine to hard liquor.”

  He signaled for the sommelier. “White wine for my guest and a vodka comet for me, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I want to know all about you, Deanna. Where did you grow up? Do you have a family, and if so, where do they live? I’m overflowing with questions. Thank you for wearing this beautiful dress. It’s so lovely on you, but I’m sure you would make any dress look beautiful.”

  “I think you’re exaggerating, but it sounds nice. Thank you. I grew up in Winston-Salem and attended universities in Washington, D. C., and FIT in New York. Both my parents are dead now. I don’t have any siblings. Although, in his second marriage, my father adopted a very nice girl. She and I have a close relationship. Now please answer the same questions you asked me.”

  “I grew up in Woodmore and Danvers. Substitute Boston for New York and omit your adopted stepsister, and we’ve had similar lives. You asked for my bio, and I left it in your box at the
registration desk.”

  “Gosh, I’d forgotten that.”

  He forced a long sigh. “How little they care, and how quickly they forget.”

  “You ought to be paddled for that,” she said. “It wasn’t even a fair piece of acting.”

  “Was, too.”

  She leaned forward. “You’ve got a wicked streak, and you were so serious in the Hilton restaurant that I wouldn’t have guessed.”

  “I don’t know about wicked, but I can hold my own with any nonsense you care to dish out.”

  “Hmm. So you think so,” she said. “What a delightful thought.”

  She didn’t know it, but she was getting to him. Each of her signals told him that she would be a warm and wonderful companion. But she was right about the problems she might encounter if she became involved with him. Laurence Burton was not a charitable man. He probably should end it before the evening was over, but he didn’t want to do that. He couldn’t, and it wasn’t because of the challenge she represented. The more he saw of her, the more certain he was that he wanted to know her.

  After a delicious meal served with first-quality wines, topped off with key lime pie—the best he’d had since his last visit—and espresso, he was in a mellow mood. “Let’s drop in at the Palm Court Jazz Café. They play some serious jazz there. What do you say?” he asked her.

  “Sounds wonderful,” she said and grasped his hand as easily as if she’d done it a hundred times. She seemed a little startled at his touch, but the lady wore class like a king wears his crown.

  “Then we’ll go,” he said, feeling more lighthearted than he remembered. He hailed a taxi and, after they got in, he made a point of leaving some space between them. Unfortunately, she had released his hand when she got into the taxi, and she didn’t reach for it again.

  The taxi stopped on the corner, and the driver informed them that cars couldn’t enter that street. “Palm Court’s half a block in, cap’m,” the driver told them. “And it’s really jumping tonight. The big boys are there.”

  She didn’t take his hand, so he took hers and waited for her to withdraw it, but she didn’t. “My gosh, Justin, this place rocks,” she said as they wove their way through the crowd. “Will you look at that? The man has the inside of his body painted on his flesh-colored jumpsuit. That’s…”